the sara ochs blog

questions

Fri, 27 May 2011 13:25:11 -0400

Why do I want to get a tattoo for my thirtieth birthday?

Am I the only person that does sock-shoe-sock-shoe? Does everyone else do sock-sock-shoe-shoe?

Why does making the beds soothe me so very much?

Why can’t Grassroots Coffee open a shop in my backyard?

Why do chickens smell so gross?

Why does our neighbor let her nine year old daughter drive a car?

Why does 35 minutes on an elliptical NOT translate to being able to run for 35 minutes? Or even longer than fifteen minutes?

Why do shows have to go on hiatus? Is it that hard to be an actor?

Why do I love the color yellow so much even when wearing it makes me look like a corpse?

third official day of summer and this is what we have become

Wed, 25 May 2011 14:05:58 -0400

[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]

third official day of summer and this is what we have become

out of the mouths of babes

Wed, 25 May 2011 11:12:40 -0400

Last night the babies and I read about Lot and Sodom (a version that was child appropriate) and Anderson had a few questions. We talked about evil and sin and hearts that reject God. We also discussed that people that have asked Jesus to live in their hearts can still make bad choices and have bad attitudes, the difference being that those people can ask for forgiveness. I gave a few examples of bad attitudes and then Caroline chimed in with an example of her own: “Like when you yelled at us at dinner, that is a bad sin, right Mama?” Right. Me and the people of Sodom had bad sins. Now please excuse me while I go pray and seek forgiveness.

bath house

Mon, 23 May 2011 17:43:29 -0400

So our old house had two bathrooms. One had a tub and shower combo and the master bathroom had an itty bitty shower stall and a linen closet. I guess having a closet in the bathroom was supposed to make you forget that the easiest way to get clean would be to soap the walls of the shower stall and lean against them. It was that small.

It was small but it worked for us. I started not to mind that I had to do ninja like yoga moves to shave my legs. It made me a better person. It also led me to believe that any other house we ever lived in would have a shower bigger than this one.

When we first saw our now house all we could notice was the ginormous jetted bathtub in the master bathroom. It really is huge. Like Marshall can fit inside it. We were overjoyed. I had visions of bathtub soaks with magazines and candles and bubbles like in a movie or something.

Soon after we moved in I realized how teensy tiny the shower stall was. Especially compared to the large-itude-ness of the tub. It is even smaller than our old shower. By at least a foot in width. I am not even kidding. Every time I take a shower I pretend that I am on a cruise ship so as not to feel claustrophobic.

I think the previous owners found this shower stall in an abandoned doll house and decided to use it in an actual home for real humans. I am sure it saved some money, but it is tortuously tiny.

Back to the tub. I have used it twice in the year we have lived here. Marshall has been in it just once and hated it. The babies are the only ones with a real appreciation for the tub and its oversized wonder. The tub is almost always occupied with tiny dollies, plastic cups and tea sets, Bionicles and matchbox cars. So much for my plans for a kid free bathroom.

I actually do not mind at all. I can only imagine how great it must be for the babies to bathe in a tub that seems as big as a swimming pool. A pool with bubbles and siblings and all the toys you can drag in from your room. It almost makes showering in a waterproof shoebox worth it.

lapse in communication

Sat, 21 May 2011 21:00:44 -0400

You know that thing where the wife is waiting to start dinner until the husband is finished building a chicken coop? And the husband KNOWS that the chicken coop cannot be built in one day but decides to keep working until the wife calls him in for dinner? That happened.

And also the meal was one that was somewhat labor intensive and compounded by the fact that the wife had started an alternate meal and then the husband brought home the missing ingredients from the original meal and the alternate meal that was going to be dinner got moved to lunch for the next day. And also compounded by the fact that the wife had never been the sole chef in the dinner meal (salmon cakes), but had only been the dishwasher and counter wiper while the husband was the actual chef.

The moral of this parable analogy narrative monologue is that while it is not in ANY way advisable, it is possible to simultaneously prepare pizza dough (alternate meal that was postponed to lunch the next day), 44 small salmon cakes (cooked half and froze half for another meal on another day), a spinach salad, and chocolate chip cookies. Please be advised that if this scenario plays out in your kitchen you might start to feel overwhelmed and sorry for yourself and the number of dishes that will have to be washed later. But then those feelings will be pushed aside because you get to eat cookies and talk about chickens with your husband.

That thing is real. And it could happen to you. But only if you are slightly redneck and have OCD ADD.

working on my fitness

Thu, 19 May 2011 21:28:52 -0400

I hate the exercise. I really do. You know those people that love working out and cannot get enough of being super fit and go on and on about how awesome exercise endorphins are? Yeah. That is not me. Never has been and never will be. Now don’t get me wrong. I do not want to be overweight or lazy, but honestly, I do just enough of the exercise to get by and I am fine with that.

I have tried running. Not so much. I understand that muscles get fatigued and you have to push through and all that jazz, but I could not get over the whole not being able to breathe thing. I CAN run a mile. I could probably MAKE myself run further than that but I think I have a mental block about the distance. One trip around our fake neighborhood is a mile and I can totally handle that. It is just that once I circle back around and see our house I am mentally done. I have a friend (I will call her Blanche) that loves to run. Trained for a half marathon and everything. Bless her heart, but I could never force myself to run for literally hours at a time. Blanche is super fit and I am sometimes jealous of her calf muscles, but then I get over it.

So now more about me. I have an elliptical machine that I keep in the sunroom. We got it a couple years ago and I have a love slash hate relationship with it. I love the convenience of it, but hate that it is so boring. I mean it is really, really boring. The only way that I can make myself use this machine four to five times a week is to pull it directly under the ceiling fan, have a glass of water within reach, and watch some kind of show from Hulu on the computer. I try to create an environment that is the least like a gym or other gross place filled with sweaty people. (think Wild Adventures or college campuses or the walmarts)

My secret about the shows I choose to watch during my elliptical time is that they are ALWAYS about food or overweight people. I think that means that I have some kind of sickness or distorted view of the exercise. Because seriously, nothing motivates me to finish those last five boring minutes like watching “The Biggest Loser” or “Iron Chef: America” or “Cupcake Wars.” There. My secret is out. I like to watch people bigger than me exercise so I feel skinnier and a little more motivated to keep up with the exercise. I feel like I need an intervention after that confession.

Also another secret is that I am usually to lazy to put on real exercise shoes and I usually wear my slippers when I am on the elliptical. So it is pretty obvious that I am not too serious about the whole situation. Nothing says “exercise slacker” like an iced drink and fuzzy slippers. Whatever. It works for me and I can still button my pants so all is well that ends well. Especially if it is streaming on Hulu.

this is gross...do not read this

Wed, 18 May 2011 15:33:36 -0400

Last night was horrible enough to make a grown woman cry. Like another random grown woman, because really it takes very little to make me cry so I cannot be a barometer for tears.

Want details? Great because I would love to share. It all started with vomit…all good stories do. Last night after dinner we let the babies have some outside playtime. Not usually our routine, but with such perfect weather and only a minute left in school we threw caution to the wind. We let them act like children. They played outside in their jammies without shoes. They screamed and laughed and threw apples at the dogs. Good wholesome fun.

Finally we called it a night and herded them inside to brush and floss teethe and get in bed. Sullivan was crying hysterically because he wanted to stay outside. He was also hot and sweaty and totally and completely distraught. I repeat myself here for emphasis. He was a hot mess. So we get babies in bed, then Anderson says he has to go potty again. While he is out of the room Sullivan starts crying harder because he wants his Bubba. Then he throws up on himself. Just laying down, head on his pillow, and the vomit is everywhere. I pull him out of bed, call for reinforcements, and catch vomit in my hands like a Jedi master. Here is what happens next. Lysol. Bissel carpet cleaner. Paper towels. Tears. Washing machine. Shower for Sullivan. Back in bed.

I was convinced the throw up happened because he got overheated and was such an emotional mess. The mister disagreed and thought it might be a virus. I refused to consider that idea. This was an isolated vomit incident.

The mister and I watch a show and eat a little medicinal ice creams. One hour later Anderson comes stumbling down the hallway totally and completely confused as to how vomit got on his shirt. It is important to note here that Anderson sleeps on the top bunk of a bunk bed, so his vomit dilemma was compounded by the whole waking up in a sea of vomit and climbing down a ladder while still throwing up on yourself and your brother and walking down the hall to find parents. Thank goodness Marshall and I had already finished our sweet treat because life as we knew it was over.

And also, the mister was right about it being a virus. As far as I know throwing up because you are sad is not contagious.

The next THREE hours were a constant dance of emptying bowls, washing sheets and jammies, more Bissel, spraying bleach on everything, and using hand sanitizer like it was our job. At one in the A.M. we decide that the best course of action was to put both boys in the living room and have me sleep on the floor between them. It is important to note HERE that that was considered the best choice and that is so sad.

I am old and cannot comfortably sleep on the floor. Especially when the eau de vomit was so strong. It was a long and horrendous night with multiple trips to the bathroom and kitchen, Sugarland lyrics floating through my near delusional mind, and praying for morning. At some point Sullivan laid down next to me and tried to get back inside me by kicking through the vertebrae of my back. I will not mention other digestive issues that were suffered during the night because I am a lady.

Our washing machine ran constantly for about four hours last night. My nose may never recover. I have smelt phantom vomit all day. I am a zombie but I am afraid to take a nap in case the problems start again. There is a mountain of laundry to be folded. At some point sheets will have to be put back on the bunk beds but I am a little scared to do that. We might have to start a 24 hours without vomit before you get your bed back policy around here.

Okay. Complaining over. It was so so gross, but I think we are on the mend. Except for my nose. It might not ever be the same. I will keep you posted on when I allow the boys back in their beds. But I can promise that mama will NOT be sleeping on the floor tonight. I am too old for that nonsense.

Cairo conversations

Fri, 22 Apr 2011 09:07:27 -0400

Just got the greatest compliment ever. As I was checking out at the walmarts the cashier said “you be looking like you get lots of groceries, but it don’t cost THAT much.” That would be because I am a smart shopper. (pats own back and takes a small bow)

A potential teachable moment with Sullivan was lost when I asked...

Tue, 19 Apr 2011 10:54:33 -0400

A potential teachable moment with Sullivan was lost when I asked him to place the Cheerios in the marked spots in the book and his response was “No. I just eat them insteads.” At least the morning snack part of our routine is taken care of.

A recent homework assignment tasked Anderson to write sentences...

Tue, 19 Apr 2011 10:51:36 -0400

A recent homework assignment tasked Anderson to write sentences with five vocabulary words. The words were: eyes, school, enough, air, and across. Here are the sentences my sweet baby angel wrote.

1. I have eyes.

2. I learn at school.

3. I had enough of you.

4. I have air in my body. (if only it would stay there!)

5. I will help you go across your yard. (sounds like dialogue from “Up” to me!)

bedtime conversations

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 23:40:56 -0400

Me: Goodnight, Caroline. I love you.

Caroline: I love you more. I love you more than...God.

Me: Oh, Lala. You have to love God even more than you love Mama and Daddy. He is so important. More important than me. And He loves you even more than I love you.

Caroline: So if God was on one side of a street and a mama was on the other side and a child had to try to run to one of them who would that child run to?

Me: Well, God does not have a body so He cannot stand on the side of a street.

Caroline: What! God does not have a body!

Me: Not like ours. Jesus had a body that looked like ours, but then we went to heaven.

Caroline: Do we get bodies in heaven?

Me: We will have bodies, but they will look different than the kind we have now.

Caroline: Oh, right. Cause when you get dead to go to heaven your body gets kind of brownish.

Me: Goodnight, Lala.

she loves me

Tue, 12 Apr 2011 09:16:58 -0400

Each night we tuck our babies into their beds, and each night they pop back out like little prairie dogs. It is inevitable. It is unavoidable. I know that Super Nanny 911 would argue that it can be stopped, but I am not her and she is not me (and we is not thee - somebody stop me).

The reasons vary with each child. Caroline always has to go potty. Even though she has gone to the bathroom literally seconds before we tuck her in. We let her go because it is easier to let her pretend to go potty than to recover from a total meltdown if we do not let her. Sometimes she changes things up and says that she is hot and wants to change her jammies. Or sometimes she needs socks or needs to take socks off. Sometimes her blanket is crooked and needs to be smoothed out. She likes variety.

Anderson has to blow his nose, or needs an allergy pill, or wants to check on us, or has to take Sullivan to go potty. He is a man of many excuses.

Sullivan talks to Anderson or gets Anderson to take him to the bathroom. Sullivan rarely actually gets out of his bed, but he makes Anderson do his dirty work for him. Not that he takes advantage of his position as the baby of the family or anything.

Last night was a whole new reason. Anderson pulled a loose tooth out after we tucked him in (his third - third tooth and third tuck in for the night). We rejoiced in his greatness and bravery and gave him a paper towel to stop the bleeding. We decided to show Caroline the tooth since we knew she was still awake. After the hoorah was complete it was time to get tucked in…again.

I put Caroline back in her bed and kissed her goodnight. And that is when she pulled out the big guns. She told me that she had not gone to sleep yet because she was crying. I asked her what made her cry and her answer was that she was crying because she just loved me so much. Crying because she loved me so much! My heart turned to total mush! So we hugged and kissed and said “I love you” to each other a million times.

I do not know what prompted Caroline to say what she said last night, but I do know that when she gets out of bed tonight I will be a little more patient and understanding. But just a little…babies do eventually have to go to sleep. Even if they love their mama so much that it makes them cry.

garage sales

Sun, 10 Apr 2011 15:39:49 -0400

I have made hundreds of dollars in profit from having garage sales over the past several years. Hundreds of dollars. You can imagine that we have gone through innumerable baby and toddler toys, mountains of outgrown clothes, and literal tons of household items. That was my previous experience with garage sales. But yesterday changed all that. Yesterday I WENT to garage sales and discovered a “new” kind of awesomeness.

I know loads of people that have found mind blowing treasures at garage sales, but for some reason I never experienced it for myself. Until now. (cue maniacal laughter) I want to be THAT person that buys an armoire for $35 or a wool coat for $2. After my experience with Goodwill I was more than a little discouraged with the whole thrifting way of life, but I knew better than to give up completely. I needed to recruit expert help. And I found it in the form of my step mama. She don’t play when it comes to garage sales. She scoured Craig’s List and the newspaper and printed out an itinerary and color coded maps. She had me at hello.

We met for coffee at seven on Saturday morning and headed out to find our treasures. The thrill of the hunt was exhilarating. Now, don’t get me wrong, we saw a lot of junk and some things that should have just been thrown away. But buried beneath some undesirables were some great bargains. I had no specific items that I was looking for, so everything had a chance to find a new home with me.

Here are the items I found and bought yesterday: - seven picture frames for $7 - seven storage containers for $6 - one tablecloth (to be used for sewing projects) for $1 - a Little Tykes basketball goal for $5 - two costume princess dresses for $2 - two Mega Blocks cars for 50 cents - a case with 15 Bakugans for $1 - a sweater for $1 - a wool blazer for two dollars! a dream realized! - a kick trash retro green lamp for $8 - a miniature backpack for 50 cents - a wooden Christmas decoration for $1

I came. I shopped. I conquered.

So I recognize that the whole garage sale thing could potentially get out of hand and that a bargain hunter could easily become a hoarder unless certain precautions are taken. (precautions against run on sentences excluded) So here are my self imposed precautions: I will limit myself to garage sale shopping just once a month. I will take only a certain amount of dollars. I will plan the outing carefully and print maps. I will drink copious amounts of coffee before, during, and after the garage sale experience. I will be awesome.

So get out there. Try a garage sale for yourself. Look through other people’s stuff and make up stories about them and their lives. Feel rich because you have a wad of dollar bills in your wallet. Drink coffee and be awesome at bargain shopping. And think of me giving you two thumbs up while you’re at it. That in itself is a treasure worth having!

spanish-oh

Sat, 09 Apr 2011 18:43:01 -0400

Caroline: "Hermano" is NOT a word!

Me: Yes it is...it means "brother" in Spanish.

Anderson: Caroline! Mama knows! She went to high school AND college! And she learned that Spanish talk.

Caroline: Oh.

Anderson: AND Grammy knows how to count to ten in Spanish and Japan!

I have a diagnosis

Sat, 09 Apr 2011 15:44:38 -0400

The mister has often told me that I am slow when it comes to completing some tasks. I admit that it is true. I would not consider myself a slow poke, necessarily, but if certain chores were a race, then the mister would win eighty percent of the time. And who could deal with that. I would have to buy him trophies and my hands would hurt from all the clapping for him. Too much. I think I have shared that I am a little bitty tiny bit OCD and perhaps just a sliver of a smidge of a perfectionist. I think this is what slows me down. If I get in my head an idea of how something should be or look or work then I CANNOT STOP UNTIL IT WORKS OR LOOKS THE WAY I WANT IT TO. I think it really is a sickness. I mean it, y’all. So this self diagnosis of household chores ADD just compounds the issue. Allow me to explain. Say, for example, that I am cleaning the bathroom and then I notice that the shower curtain shrank the last time I washed it. Then I remember that I have an extra shower curtain in the linen closet so I change the shower curtain in the bathroom. Then I am dissatisfied with how the current wall decor looks with the “new” shower curtain and I start to scope out the house for pictures that could be moved from their current location into the bathroom. So I find two pictures that would look great with the shower curtain and I hang them on the walls and admire the awesomeness for a minute. But then the hallway that I took the pictures from is now empty and looks lonely and sad. But then I remember some printed scripture verses that were given to us but are currently rolled up and inside the computer desk drawer. So I go look at those verses and measure them and try to figure how to hang these in the hallway. I also try to think of creative ways to personalize the six 16 by 20 frames that I will need to actually hang those verses. Then I calculate that buying six larger frames will get super expensive and get a little discouraged. The verses get rolled back up and put back in the desk drawer. Then I walk back down the hallway and see the discarded pictures that had previously been very happy on the bathroom walls. I pick them up to put them away but then decide to walk through the house holding them in case inspiration strikes. Then I move some things around in the living room. Then I hang one of the pictures in the other bathroom. Then I realize that almost an hour has passed and THE BATHROOM STILL HAS NOT BEEN CLEANED. And then I weep a little and drink some coffee and curse the fact that large picture frames are expensive. Because if frames were cheaper none of this would have happened. But of course that was all hypothetical. Because if it had actually happened then I would be officially diagnosed with OCD-ADD and that would be terrible. Terrible because the only cure for this imaginary illness is coffee and getting the mister to massage my head when I sit next to him on the couch. Wait. That’s an awesome illness to have. Get me some coffee! I feel an “episode” coming on!

how the mighty have fallen

Fri, 08 Apr 2011 19:55:41 -0400

You accidentally pass gas ONCE in the car and suddenly you are the “worst mama in the world.” Just two nights ago I was told I was the best mama ever for giving the babies grapes as dessert. Look at me now. The worst and grossest mama alive in the world. It’s true what they say, the fall from the top is the hardest.

hair

Wed, 06 Apr 2011 22:48:32 -0400

My hair is inexplicably big and undeniably awesome right now. Sadly, it will be wasted because it is now bedtime. Why does great hair happen when it is least appreciated?

while uh-bentures (wild adventures)

Mon, 04 Apr 2011 20:52:35 -0400

Yesterday we took the crew to the redneck Mecca of Wild Adventures and what an adventure it was. The mister found an all inclusive (as it were) package that provided admission, a meal from select “restaurants” inside the park, and arm bands for UNLIMITED DRINKS. The drinks had me at hello. I love drinks. I love fountain beverages and having the ability to go to any kiosk or restaurant anywhere in the park and ask for a “free” drink was a dream come true. I am a smidge tight with money and I would have never allowed for that many drinks to be consumed in an eight hour span if not for those glorious arm bands. Seriously, I think I drank my weight in Diet Coke yesterday. It. Was. Fabulous. The Buster man was a little on the short side for most of the rides and his legs tired out about halfway through the day. Caroline was tall enough for the majority of the rides, but was the most picky about what she was willing to try. For example, she DESPISED the rides that splashed any amount of water on her but LOVED the Yo-Yo which nearly gave me a heart attack. Anderson was tall enough for all the rides, but quickly realized he is not a roller coaster man. I think his exact words were “I was so freaked out I almost felt throw up come out of my mouth.” Well spoken, little man, well spoken. If the highlight of the day was the unlimited drinks, the low light was changing into my swimsuit in the van in the parking lot. We knew our babies had a finite amount of walking and we needed to walk smart, not far, so the obvious choice was changing in the car. It was about three hundred degrees in the van and the anxiety of a parking lot Peeping Tom increased the heat index to sauna like levels. Anyway. I did it and at least now I know that I can change in the car if the situation calls for it, but I hope it never comes to that ever again. All in all it was a great kick off to spring break. We walked about ten miles and drank gallons of fountain beverages. The mister and I did agree that we are about four years away from taking a trip to Disney World. Sullivan needs time to grow and increase his endurance. We also need time to collect more DVDs to make the trip possible. Wild Adventures is a mini Disney and we had a great time on a mini vacation. I am sure we will squeeze more “uh-bentures” into this week off school and work. I can only hope that Diet Coke will be involved. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

fail

Fri, 01 Apr 2011 15:14:58 -0400

Remember that time I said that I had become a dumpster diver and that I had given a door a new lease on life? You should. It was on Tuesday. Well, I had grand plans of creating an architectural design element slash kick trash photo frame for our sunroom. I wanted to sand it to remove the old paint. I (and by “I” I of course mean the mister) wanted to hang it horizontally so that the fifteen panes of glass could become fifteen photo frames. I planned to frame some family photos, some artwork from the babies, and perhaps some decorative fabric for a little extra flair. But none of that will ever happen.

All the exertion of making sure the coast was clear so no one would witness my first dive before I stepped out of the car, the folding down of the back seats of the van, the asking my six year old for help because I was not strong enough to lift a door alone, the 100 reminders to “please do not bang on the glass or touch the metal hardware for the love of all that is good and holy” that were gently spoken from the driver’s seat of the van to the angelic passengers in the backseat on the ride home, the pollen that was caked on my pants and hands and hair, ALL of that was wasted. Would you like to know why this whole would be craft ended before it began? The answer, in a word, is TERMITES. The door is INFESTED with creepy crawly termites.

Thank the Lord we kept the door in the garage and not in our house. I was so sad when the mister yelled out that THE DOOR IS COVERED, NO SCRATCH THAT, SWARMING IN TERMITES. My first dumpster dive ended in sadness, but it did teach me a good lesson. That being, if that some one throws something away there could very well be a legitimate reason. A reason like termites.

This was a craft fail, but I will persevere. I will dive again. Just you wait.

I am becoming my parents

Thu, 31 Mar 2011 16:15:00 -0400

When I was younger I often wondered why my parents did certain things. Usually because it offended my sense of order and gave me an OCD flare up. Examples will be provided and explained.

Example one: I used to love to watch my mama put on her makeup. It all seemed so magical and I wondered how she could remember what order to put the products on and if she ever forgot what the pencil thing was for or if she ever accidentally put lipstick on her eyes. You know, usual kid stuff. Anyway. I loved to watch her apply makeup but was always bothered by the fact that she never put her lipstick on until we got in the car. Lipstick was ALWAYS applied en route to our destination, but never at home. It bothered me. I thought it was the final touch and the entire makeup process seemed incomplete and interrupted without the lipstick.

Now I understand. Lipstick is the least difficult to apply. I can do it without even looking at a mirror. Maybe I am just awesome and no one else, not even my own mama can do this, but I doubt it. I think I know the real reason. Everything else HAS to be done before anyone leaves the house. Getting dressed, brushing teeth, making sure bags or purses have all the vital contents, eating. Lipstick falls far down on the list. Don’t get me wrong. Lipstick can make or break a person, but it requires FAR less attention than making sure all your children have shoes and that morning breath has been eradicated.

I am my mama. I put lipstick, well gloss, on in the car. Never at home. I am such a mom like that.

Example two: My dad wore the same velour bathrobe for approximately one hundred years. He might still have it. If he does, it needs to be replaced. (birthday present idea!) It was black with burgundy, navy, and hunter green vertical stripes. The robe had a belt, of course, but my daddy never EVER put the belt through the belt loops. He always wore it around his waist which was about four inches lower than the belt loops. I thought that was terrible, horrible, and no good. Belts belonged in loops, not just willy nilly wherever you wanted them.

I get it now. My dad has a long torso. Guess what? I do too. I realized this after I pulled the whole belt-under-the-loops look last week. I hang my bathrobe on the back of our bathroom door. The boys have discovered it and often use the belt for boy games. You know, tying each other up, dragging furniture, making zip lines for tiny soldiers. The usual. Anyway. Awhile back I found the abandoned belt far far from where it belonged inside the belt loops of my bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door. I picked the belt up and quickly tossed it on the hook with the robe, but did not thread the belt through the loops. The next time I put on my robe I tied the belt WITHOUT realizing that it was about four inches lower than normal. It felt more comfortable and I might not have even changed it despite the old man look I was sporting.

Y’all. I am my dad too. The next time you see me without lipgloss and with my bathrobe belt tied under the loops, just smile and wave and hand me a crossword puzzle and some warm socks. Thank you, kindly.